


Goodnight, Sweet Prince

by flute25



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), lightly edited, spoilers for Infinity War, this is how i'm coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flute25/pseuds/flute25
Summary: Infinity War ruined me.(Lightly edited story, all mistakes are mine.)





	Goodnight, Sweet Prince

In the end, there was darkness.

 

* * *

 

The shadow stretches out before him, behind him, around him - black upon black, dense and unyielding. 

Utter _totality_. 

Loki squeezes his eyes shut. To what end, he does not know. The darkness there is no different, no less real, no less terrifying. 

He cries out - _help me, please!_

Only the soundless expanse answers.

 

* * *

 

His eyes flutter open.

The darkness is no more, the heavy weight of _nothing_ replaced by a pale, familiar blue. Loki sits up on his elbows. Trees are peppered on the landscape, their verdant leaves nearly glistening in the brilliant sun. To the far edge of the horizon he spots a cliff edge of ragged rocks, overlooking what he assumes must be a body of water. 

There are no crashing waves, no scent of salt that would indicate such a thing. 

Perhaps he is wrong, Loki thinks, pushing himself to his knees, and finally a standing position. He puts a hand to his forehead, to protect his vision from the intense sunlight.

It’s beautiful, he realizes. Idyllic and quiet in a way that is almost familiar. 

How had he come to be here?

Loki takes a few tentative steps forward, as if the very ground would collapse with his movement. Nothing happens, of course, and he is unsure why he feels such unease in a place like this. 

The cliff calls to him.

The god wipes his hands on his pants out of habit. He never enjoyed playing in the grass, with the way his hands would become dirty, the way pieces of stone and earth would get stuck under his fingernails. 

He lifts a hand in front of his face. 

Curious, he thinks. Completely clean - no trace of earth, grass, no scent, even. 

He continues towards the outcropping.

What is this place? So peaceful, not even the cry of a single creature disturbs the absolute silence that reigns over this bizarre realm. 

So idyllic, the trees and grass betray not a single shiver, not one vibration with his steps. 

So calm, not even the slightest of breezes caress his face.

He can’t feel his heartbeat.

Loki’s eyes go wide, clutching at his chest. He feels discomfort, like he should be in pain, but there is no response in his body, no blood rushing in his ears, no _feeling_ of physicality. 

The sensation - there is no better word for it, as he feels and not-feels at once - the strange fear peaks, his body being pulled in every direction, as if each molecule of his corporeal form was being exposed. 

And then nothing. 

He heaves, ignoring all indications that no air entered or left his lungs. 

No. 

A dream. 

He continues to walk towards the cliff. 

Loki strives to ignore the increasingly uncomfortable sensations of this discorporate form.

He turns his thoughts to others.

Where is Thor? 

They had parted…when had they parted? There was a plan, something important, so vital that he had entertained some disturbing notions, _ideas_ of - well, it was better not to think of that. Not right now.

His consciousness is fuzzy, an unfocused, dirty piece of glass. He can see only shadows of what lay beyond that barrier. 

The terrain steepens. He is close to the cliff edge. The very top is partially obstructed by the leveling of the ground. Loki squints, making out a figure sitting on a large, flat boulder. 

A woman, her back turned to him.

Heartened by the presence of another being, he races up the hill, the incline more intense, more exaggerated than he had originally calculated. 

Up and up, he climbs, practically bent over. He uses his hands for support, and the last few steps would have been painful, if he could feel pain right now. 

As it is, he is drained, and half-expects to see his arm turn translucent with the effort. 

It is an odd assumption to make.

He takes a moment to collect himself, adjusting his frayed leather shirt, throwing his emerald cape fully behind both shoulders. 

Strange that he didn’t recall the rips in the garment. He was usually fastidious about his appearance.

Loki approaches the woman. She sits with her back to him still, almost preternaturally still. Long golden curls cascade from her shoulders, contrasting nicely with the light blue dress that shimmers like stars in the sun. 

She, too, is familiar to Loki, although in a different way than this place. 

Loki holds out an arm. He can’t summon his _seidr._

His hand trembles as he steps towards her, his teeth clenched against the inevitable.

Before he can reach her, however, she slowly turns to face him. 

“Oh, Loki…”

Her eyes sparkle in the light. 

She gives him a small, sad smile. 

Loki reels, burying his face in his hands. 

_“I’m - I’m sorry.”_

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud, wasn’t aware of the breath (what breath? He has no breath, no lungs, where _is_ this place?) exiting his mouth. Didn’t know _how_ he could speak in a place that carried no air, showed no indication of being alive, and if that was the case, then he - 

Then he…

The first tendrils of fear wrap themselves where his heart should be. 

Frigga holds out a hand, still smiling, and Loki wants to think he sees tears in her eyes, but no, it can’t be true. Illusions don’t grieve the damned.

He can’t help himself though, the image is too dear to him, he _must_ go to her. Loki staggers forward, his steps inexorable, the weight of memory, of guilt for his past misdeeds growing heavier with each movement. 

And what had been his latest transgression, to lead him here, to this idyllic hellscape?

Frigga urges him forward, her fingers beckoning him - _come._

Loki cannot bear it any longer. He collapses to his knees, sobbing without tears, his hands tearing at his hair he can’t _breathe_ how is this possible -

_I am so sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me I’m so sorry_ again and again he can’t stop repeating the words, as if the mere act of speaking them would atone him for his sins. 

But he isn’t speaking, he _can’t_ speak here there’s no physical way for him to speak and yet he heard Frigga’s voice and his chest wrenches in agony _why can’t I feel pain?_

He heaves and the dark shadow fills his mind, memories seeping in, unbidden.

A glowing blue cube. A violet monolith. Thor’s ruby blood dripping from his mouth.

Loki grabs at his hair, pulling, wrenching as if he could extract the very images from his mind.

_Protect me._

He squeezes his eyes shut against the cavalcade of memories. The sickening smell of burnt flesh, his stomach nearly expelling its contents on the ship’s floor. The wailing alarms, shrieking in his ear as he tries desperately to send out one last message. 

The overbearing knowledge that _this was it._ _There was no way out. Only one decision, one path._

Loki pushes his head between his knees, curling in on himself. Smaller, become smaller, how small can you become, Thor had asked him when they were children.

_I’m scared._

His throat constricts. He can’t breathe. Thor looks at him with wide eyes, tears - _real tears_ \- streaming, his silent screams etched on his features. 

Loki screams. 

_Mother, help me!_ he pleads, wordlessly.

He knows now. Oh Norns, he _knows._

Death. 

The end.

No more illusions. 

Loki curls into himself even more, covering his ears with his hands. He trembles, would have been hyperventilating if not for the fact that he could no longer breathe - hadn’t drawn a single breath since arriving in this place.

_Save me_ , he whimpers.

Gentle hands press on his shoulders. Loki stiffens. They are a warm, steady presence on his body. The very first contact he has _felt_ since arriving here. His hands run through the grass beneath him, but it is textureless, _meaningless._ It is nothing, just as the ground has no weight, no mass. But _her_ hands, her _touch_ \- that, he feels, kneading his shoulders, the torn fabric of his leather tunic, caressing the back of his neck where…where…

“Loki,” she whispers in his ear. A hand disappears from his shoulder and the god nearly cries from the loss. But it is only temporary, as her long fingers are now running through his knotted hair. A weight settles on his crown - Frigga’s own cheek, he realizes belatedly as he falls into the touch like a drowning man.

“My brave, brave boy.” Norns, how he has _missed_ her voice. It’s real, the only thing that is _real_ in this awful place, and he wonders if this, too, will be taken away from him. His punishment - to have this so close, so near, until he is dragged to…not even Hel. To endure pain would mean he _felt._ This place, this nothingness, this _illusion_ \- this would be his punishment for his misdeeds. A return to the Void, this time all the more cruel as it presented him with that which he held so dear. 

Loki presses his face into Frigga’s hand. 

“I’m so sorry, mother.” His voices catches, on what he cannot image. Perhaps pure emotion alone. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

He cannot meet her eyes, cannot chance seeing the awful, vacant expression that will condemn him, damn him, and reject him - just as he had done to her.

A hand comes under his chin, and Loki freezes, remembering _his_ touch - the one that had grabbed him with thick fingers curling around his neck, tightening, _squeezing_ until there was nothing but Thor’s muted screams and a sickening _crack_ before he knew no more.

Frigga’s warm hands take him by either side of his face, and Loki can no longer avert his gaze. He looks directly into her eyes, steeling himself for what is to come. 

He would not feel regret.

Not for dying, at least. Loki knows he had been on borrowed time since letting go on the rainbow bridge, since falling into the Void.

This - this, at least, made it _right._

Frigga brushes his hair behind his ears, placing her lips to his forehead. They stay there, mother and son, and Loki wishes the moment to never end. This is far more than he ever expected upon his own death, even if for a brief heartbeat.

She eventually pulls away. The lack of touch sends a chill through Loki’s blood.

“Are you ready, Loki?”

He bites his lip. No. No, he’s not. 

Loki sits back on his haunches, still kneeling at Frigga’s feet. He places his hands on his thighs, wiping his palms on his pants before taking his right hand with other, wrenching his fingers.

Frigga stands. Loki keeps his gaze to the ground. 

No more tricks, no more deceptions. He is _tired_ and there is nothing left to fight against, no one to save, no one to fight for except himself. 

And that is paltry motivation. 

Her hand is in front of his face. Wrinkled, but not so much as it was after he had fallen from the Bifrost. He observes Frigga’s fingers - deft, smooth with their movements, so much like his own, despite them sharing no blood, no genetics, nothing except the tenuous, invisible promise of family.

_Odinson,_ he had declared.

“Come, Loki. You mustn’t keep everyone waiting.”

_Everyone?_ There was no one where he was going, nothing to comfort him, only the weight of his past mistakes for company.

“Who - I…?” Loki croaks.

Frigga smiles.

“Valhalla, my son.”

_What?_

No. This is a trick, a mistake, part of his deserved torment - 

“Mo - Mother?” A question; a plea. He yearns to take her hand, to believe…

“The sun shines on you, Loki, as it did for me, for your father, and as it will for your brother when the time comes,” she explains simply.

_The sun will shine on us again, brother._

He hesitates, searching his mother’s face for some clue, any indication that this is false.

But there no artifice he can glean, no sleight.

Frigga’s eyes speak to him.

_Trust me, Loki._

He supposes he has nothing left to lose.

Loki takes his mother’s hand, slowly rising to his feet. She glows with radiant warmth, with trust, with love, and pulls him into a tight embrace.

He smiles into her shoulder - real and wide, his very soul filling with something nearing ecstasy. 

Loki is home.

Together they turn to western horizon, mother and son. Hand-in-hand, they walk forward, towards the bright edges of the universe.

 

* * *

 

In the beginning, there was light.

 

* * *

 

_“And while our sorrow may be profound, the clouds will clear, and the sun will shine on us again. And in that warm, bright light we will find ourselves facing a glorious future. A future of infinite possibilities, in which the horizon will stretch out before us, trimmed in the heavenly glow of the sunrise of our tomorrow.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Quote is from "The Prince and Me."
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr @be-a-snake-stab-your-brother (for Loki/MCU) or @legobiwan (for Star Wars/more general stuff).


End file.
